Andrew Pepper - Bloody Winter

Pyke hadn’t mentioned the kidnapping and Flint hadn’t asked about it, or about Pyke’s reason for visiting the town.

Before presenting himself at the Hancocks’ home, he decided to call in to the station-house, a two-storey building on Graham Street. There, he found Superintendent Henry Jones, a well-spoken, energetic man in his twenties. Clearly Jones knew about the kidnapping but he hadn’t been forewarned of Pyke’s visit. He greeted Pyke and lamented the shortcomings of the force he oversaw in Merthyr, perhaps worried how the operation might look to a detective-inspector from London. When Pyke explained that he wanted to speak to Sir Clancy Smyth, the young superintendent suggested they wander over to the old courthouse.

‘So what are your first impressions of our fair town?’ Jones asked, as they crossed the street outside the station-house.

Pyke couldn’t tell whether he was being ironic. ‘Do you want an honest answer?’

Jones laughed nervously. ‘It has its moments, you know. The Taff Valley is really rather beautiful.’

They walked for a while in silence. The streets in the town centre were quiet, with just a few drays and carts making deliveries.

‘How many days has it been since the Hancock child was seized?’

‘Five or six, I think.’ Jones kept on walking. ‘I think a ransom note was delivered to the castle the day before yesterday.’

When Pyke had first seen the Hancocks’ address, he’d wondered whether the first line — Caedraw Castle — was an exaggeration. Since arriving in Merthyr, he had actually seen it from a distance, a grotesque mock-medieval pile perched on one of the hills overlooking the town.

‘You don’t seem sure.’

‘As you’ll doubtless find out, the Hancocks have their own way of conducting their affairs. For whatever reason, our expertise, such as it is, has not been required.’

‘You don’t know who sent the note, then?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know what was demanded but I’m told the ransom note was penned by Scottish Cattle.’

‘Scottish Cattle?’

‘Most folk just call ’em the Bull.’ Jones turned to face him. ‘To some, they’re defenders of workers’ rights. To us, they’re terrorists, plain and simple. These days, you’re more likely to find folk from the Bull in mining villages farther up the valley. They killed a man once, back in the thirties, but I haven’t heard much about them in recent years. Far as I know, they’ve never gone so far as to kidnap a master’s child before.’

‘You have your doubts about their involvement?’

‘I don’t know. Like I said, I haven’t seen the ransom letter; I don’t know what’s being demanded.’

Ignoring the chill wind blowing off the mountain, Pyke looked up and down the street. Built from flint and stone, with two gable-ends and a porch covered in ivy, the courthouse was one of the oldest buildings in the town. Jones explained that it had once also been the family residence but some time after his wife died, Smyth had moved to an estate — Blenheim — about two miles farther down the valley.

Sir Clancy Smyth had a round, lively face and a brisk, no-nonsense demeanour. His friendliness seemed genuine enough, especially after Pyke mentioned that Sir Richard Mayne had passed on his best wishes, but there was something about his performance that wasn’t quite convincing, a deadness in his eyes that seemed to contradict the curdling smile on his lips. He stood by the fireplace but kept shuffling from one foot to the other, as though being still was somehow beyond him.

‘Look, Detective-inspector,’ Smyth said, when the conversation turned to the matter of the kidnapping, ‘whether I care for the family or not, it’s true that the Caedraw ironworks is one of the largest of its kind. It employs three thousand men, women and children and the welfare of the whole town depends on its success.’

Pyke could tell at once that Smyth did not care for the family, and the fact that he didn’t mind sharing this fact with a complete stranger suggested that the magistrate and the Hancocks were in open dispute.

As if to explain this, Smyth added, ‘Zephaniah Hancock is, wholly without justification, contemptuous of our constabulary.’ He glanced across at Jones. ‘He might be more impressed by a detective-inspector from Scotland Yard. You could be our eyes and ears in the Castle. Of course, we want the same thing they want, the boy returned to his family. Everything else is unimportant.’

Pyke’s thoughts turned to Cathy, as they had done on numerous occasions during the journey. Would she be happy to see him? Turning his attention back to the magistrate, Pyke considered what he’d been told. He wasn’t convinced by Smyth’s assurances but appreciated the man’s candour.

‘So what can you tell me about Hancock’s wife?’

‘She’s much younger much than he is and a very beautiful creature. I wouldn’t say it’s an especially happy marriage but then again, I’m not sure I’m the best person to comment on such matters.’

Pyke looked around the room and wondered whether, as a widower, the man had any children. Would this be him in a few years’ time? Pyke’s thoughts returned — briefly — to Felix waving at him from the station platform.

‘If you have no objections,’ Smyth said, looking at Jones, ‘I should like to be alone with the detective-inspector.’

Jones knew his place and nodded before departing, saying he would wait for Pyke in the entrance hall.

‘Jones is a nice chap, honest and hard working, but I’m afraid he’s quite ineffectual. The whole force is. As much as it pains me to say it, Zephaniah Hancock is right.’ Smyth wandered over to the window and peered through the glass before turning around.

‘In my experience,’ Pyke said, ‘policemen are only as effective or ineffective as they’re allowed to be by their superiors.’

Smyth took the admonishment well. ‘Of course, you’re quite right, sir. Our mandate here has never been a strong one.’

‘If you’ll permit me to say it, Sir Clancy, you don’t seem to care for the Hancock family very much.’

The magistrate turned around again and looked out at the street. ‘That’s a difficult statement for me to comment on, sir. Perhaps all I can say is that their general contribution to the civilisaton of this town has been less than I would like it to have been.’ He paused. ‘Did you know that Thomas Carlyle called Merthyr the most squalid place on earth? He was especially worried by the absence of a middling class of men, the kind who could bring some respectability to the town.’

‘The Hancocks would doubtless claim they have provided work for the masses.’

‘Indeed, and this is no small achievement. But if we can’t take pride in our town, how can we expect others to do so? You’ve probably heard people talk about China. That’s what they call Pontystorehouse or the Cellars. It’s a squalid little area and at present we’ve all but ceded it to the gangs.’

Pyke recalled what Bill Flint had told him during their train journey from Cardiff.

‘The rot starts in China,’ Smyth continued. ‘If we cut it out at the root, the town’ll be able to breathe a little easier.’ The magistrate realised what he’d said and tried to smile. ‘I’m sorry. You didn’t come all this way to hear me rant about our local difficulties.’

‘Perhaps there’s some link between the kidnapping and the trouble in China?’

Smyth smoothed back his silver hair with the palm of his hand. ‘Perhaps — but then again I don’t imagine any of the gangs would dare to launch such an open challenge to one of the ironmasters.’

Pyke watched a cart rattle past the window.

‘Actually, Sir Clancy, I was hoping you could recommend someone I could use as a translator; preferably a man who isn’t going to be intimidated by venturing into the more unsavoury parts of town.’